


fulcrum

by biglizard



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Character Study, Foreshadowing, Found Family, Gen, Introspection, Light Angst, Secret Samol 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:27:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29087574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biglizard/pseuds/biglizard
Summary: fulcrum/ˈfo͝olkrəm/nounthe pivot point, the axis upon which something turnsCass reflects on the twist of fate that took them out of Apostolos and on their relationship with the rest of the Chime.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	fulcrum

**Author's Note:**

> An almost-late gift for [aphrddt!](https://twitter.com/aphrddt) (sorry). Thank you for your incredible prompts, you made it difficult to decide what to write because all of your ideas were so good!
> 
> Contains sort of implied spoilers for the end of Counter/WEIGHT!

The Kingdom Come’s artificial circadian cycle had no evening, no twilight, no dusk. Nighttime came on abruptly at the end of the day cycle: a chime sounded throughout the ship and a pleasant, computer-generated voice said _good night!_ All of the overhead lights shut off, plunging the ship into darkness and transforming glaring day into night. In space, overhead lighting conditions were the only difference between day and night; most of the Chime worked late into artificial night. Somewhere in the belly of the ship, Aria was maintaining her mech, Mako was trawling the mesh for usable data, and AuDy was...presumably also doing maintenance, possibly to the ship itself. Cass had never asked, and frankly, didn’t want to know.

Cass was holed up in their private quarters, a tiny, cramped room set back from the cockpit. It wasn’t much: a narrow bunk, a tiny porthole, a shelf-like desk built into the wall, a few cupboards hidden behind recessed panels. They’d done what they could to make it more comfortable: a few pictures pinned to the walls, bed made up with high thread-count Apostilistian linens, which had been a long-ago gift from someone hoping to curry favor with the Apokine, someone who hadn’t realized exactly what ‘exile’ meant. The tiny cabin was one of the few spaces in the galaxy that belonged wholly to Cassander, but most days, it felt more like a den than a true home.

This—the ship, the Chime, the day-to-day indignities of mercenary work—hadn’t been in the plan. The Plan (and that’s how it existed in Cass’s head, The Glorious Plan with all its self-importance and initial capitals) had been like this: a decorated military career, a triumphant homecoming, a political appointment, a storied career in the civil service. They might even have married, if they found someone whose ambitions and personality and connections complemented their own. If the stars favored them and the apokine had given their blessing, Cassander might even have had a family of their own.

All of that, gone now.

It was difficult to say exactly when and where things had gone wrong. Enrollment in the medical corps certainly hadn’t helped their case, even if they _were_ suited to it, even if it _had_ felt like the noble thing to do. _There is no glory in medicine_ , that’s what Euanthe had said. And even irreverent Sokrates had agreed with their older sibling’s assessment (or at least, they had not disagreed). _A doctor’s like a servant, Cass. The Second Estate isn't going to take you seriously if you enlist with Iatrokos._

Maybe that was when The Plan had gone awry. Euanthe’s accident, Sokrates’ banishment. Those small interpersonal tragedies had _not_ been part of The Plan. But even then, nothing had been set in stone. They might have remained a cherished member of the Imperial Family, if it hadn’t been for court politics or the whims of empire or any of a thousand other things. If the ship had righted itself, they might not have had to deviate from The Plan. They might still be living in a palace with a suite overlooking the ink-black ocean, might still be dressing in silk and linen, might still be dining on grilled fish and fresh fruit. Their life now was corridors and tasteless extruded meals, clothes mass-manufactured and sold for cheap. Everything abrasive and cheap and _mean_ , quantity over quality.

Still. It wasn’t _all_ bad. For the first time in their life, Cass enjoyed life relatively free from surveillance and public scrutiny. They were accountable only to themselves and their squad, and the Chime were less demanding than the Apostalistian public. And even if they _were_ all a tremendous pain in the ass, Cass was glad to have them around.

Despite their strangeness, AuDy had been a fixed point in Cass’ tumultuous existence for a year or more. The robot could not be counted on to be pleasant, helpful, or discreet, but they _could_ be counted upon. After a decade of upset and exile, Cassander was grateful for any steady foothold in their strange new life.

Aria Joie was the other fixture of their life outside of Apostalos. Cass saw a parallel in their lives, a fall from grace and a turn from luxury and royalty (a less literal sort of royalty in Aria’s case, although the pop princess was undoubtedly more famous and influential than Cass had ever been). Aria had made the best of her new life in a way that Cass didn’t know they were capable of; she was so bloody _determined_ that she sometimes terrified them. Aria was an optimist, and not for want of worldly experience. She could somehow see through things, cut a clean, brilliant line through the bullshit. She always knew the _right_ thing to do, while Cass was always bogged down in the most _efficient_ thing or the most _practical_ thing to do. She lived her ideals, and the world seemed to smile on her. She was unlike anyone Cass had ever met.

Mako was no less singular, although he was some, somehow, irrepressibly, a little like Sokrates. Only a little. There was a sameness to their mannerisms, their humor, the shape of their convictions, if not the strength of them. Plenty of distance between them, too—Mako was unlikely to make the kind of principled last stand that had cost Sokrates everything (although few people were, Cass didn’t think themselves capable of that kind of selflessness). Sokrates was more thoughtful and more careful than Mako, although that was an admittedly low bar. Ultimately Cass cared very much for them both, although that fondness took different forms.

Their thoughts were interrupted by a flash of brilliant light like a lightning strike, like the flare of sniper fire. It was so sudden and unexpected that Cass Cass found themselves flat against the wall, groping with numb fingers for a rifle that was stowed securely in the cargo hold before they realized what had happened: in its long, elliptical orbit, the Kingdom Come had passed through orbital debris into a clearing in space, letting the light of the sun through. Cass’ cabin was suddenly bathed in genuine daylight. The shock of it triggered something primal in them, an animal fear almost unrecognizable in the modern era. For the briefest moment before the ship automatically retracted the shutters over the porthole, they stood drenched in strange sunlight, an unnamed existential dread roiling in their gut.

For a moment, they had thought that they were flying directly toward the sun.


End file.
